Primary Colors
by Candyland
Summary: Four fics, four colors, four pairings. Green: The Illness — Luke is not feeling well. Luke-Layton, father/son.
1. Yellow: The Books

**AN:** All righty, have some disclosure on this. The Professor Layton LJ comm did a Secret Santa exchange, and I wrote for the amazingly lovely ptps. She had four possible prompts, so I wrote them all and linked them together under the loose theme of colors, and slapped a collective title on it. Four chapters, each with a color theme, and each with a different pairing or relationship. First up: Layton/Legal! I don't own Professor Layton. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading!

**I. Yellow: The Books**

"PROFESSOR!"

Layton jumped a good meter out of his chair at the combined sound of the door being flung open into the wall hard enough to jostle all the pictures (now they all were hanging at stylish angles) and the sound of his name being shouted loudly enough to be heard in Japan.

He did what little he could to steady and right himself as his apprentice's future self stalked into the office. "Y-yes, Luke?"

Luke's elder self marched up to the desk and placed both hands firmly on the top of it, leaning his weight on them as he almost slid across the desk (the movement was bordering on cat-like) to put his face right in front of his teacher's. "Professor."

"Good heavens, Luke, what is it that you need?" Layton asked, now a bit irritated at the interruption of his work as well as confused at what exactly was going on.

"Professor, it has recently been brought to my attention that you are hot," Luke said, his eyes boring directly into Layton's. While the Professor gaped, Luke lifted one hand and reached into the pocket of his blazer to withdraw a folded piece of paper. "And according to this letter, I am also very hot."

Distraction alert!

Layton gestured towards the piece of paper. "A letter? And who, pray tell, sent such a letter?"

Luke straightened up completely and unfolded it. "Well, it is signed from the many screaming fangirls of the Professor Layton LiveJournal Community, followed by a whole bunch of names. But according to them, we are both hot. And they back up what they have written in this letter by including what they refer to as their two ancient and mystical texts."

Now Luke produced two books. Layton picked up the first one, which had a rather garish black and yellow cover. And he read the title out loud. "Writing Incredibly Hot Messy Sexy Teacher/Student Yaoi Smut for Dummies?"

"Yes. They sent that, and also this," Luke held out the other book, a thick affair with a hard cover with the title across the front in gold script.

Layton read this one out loud as well. "The Big Book of Fandom Cliches?" Layton now looked up at his apprentice with a very dubious gaze. "You cannot possibly be serious."

"I am completely serious, Professor. Please reference the chapter on yaoi and slash. It starts on page four hundred and eighty-two," Luke added. "And according to the letter and both of these books, since we are both incredibly hot males, we should be having sex." He tilted his head, making his hat slid down over his bangs at an admittedly charming angle. "Lots and lots of sex."

Layton blinked. "…we should?"

"Professor, we should have started having filthy sex a week ago!" Luke said, rolling his eyes skyward. An odd sentiment, considering that the elder Luke had only appeared eight days ago. "On the floor, the desk, it doesn't matter! It is a law of nature!"

Professor Layton still did not look completely convinced.

Luke slid around the desk and moved to sit on the desk, putting himself directly between Layton and the desk. He put one hand on Layton's shoulder and with his other hand he pulled something else out of his pocket. It appeared to be a large yellow puzzle piece with two pieces of string tied to it, one on either side. What an odd thing to be carrying around.

And the way he smiled as he held up the puzzle piece-shaped thing could only be called seductive. "Do you want me to wear the mask?"

For a moment, Layton was silent.

Then he looked up at Luke with a raised eyebrow. "…on the floor, you say?"


	2. Red: The Meeting

**AN: **Part two! I don't own Professor Layton!

**II. Red: The Meeting**

Oh, it was just one of those days, wasn't it? Whatever could go wrong seemed to be going wrong, left and right. And now she was running late. Could this possibly get any worse?

Claire glanced up at the clock tower. Its infuriating display had not changed: she was still going to be desperately late for her next class. This was not what she needed. Oh, this was going to be a nightmare to explain to her professor…

She was so intent on the time showing up on the clock that she did not notice the person walking around the corner she was about to turn. Granted, the person had not noticed her either; his face was obscured by the book he seemed to be absorbed in.

It was a recipe for an accident, and sure enough, the two collided head-on, sending them both toppling to the sidewalk. The book went flying, and Claire's satchel slid across the ground. She let out an unladylike squawk as she landed hard on the walkway, the man she had run into now pinned beneath her. She was sprawled across his stomach.

Claire sat up and immediately began grappling around for her things, babbling as she tried to fathom how the day could possibly get any worse. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention, and I was in a hurry and running late…"

"Are you all right, miss?"

For the first time, she actually looked at the person she had crashed into. And in spite of her panic, she felt her face redden in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was running late and upset over everything else that had happened that day.

He was handsome, to be sure. Brown hair, square jaw, and the kindest eyes she had seen on a man in a long time. And he was already on his feet and offering her a hand up. "I'm terribly sorry, miss."

"It's all right…" she said, accepting the proffered hand and getting to her own feet, reaching for her fallen things as she did so. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

He chuckled and stooped to pick up the book he had been so intent on reading, as well as the hat that had been knocked from his head at the impact. "It was my fault." He had a nice smile, too, she noticed absently. But before she could say anything else, there was a loud sound from overhead. The sound of bells chiming the…

Hour…

She felt her eyes widen. "Oh no, I'm late!" she turned and started hurrying down the sidewalk once again in a desperate attempt to not be any later than she absolutely had to be.

"Miss!" she heard him call after her. "What's your name?"

She was surprised to feel her feet slowing down, and she turned back to him. "Claire. I'm Claire," she said far more breathlessly than she had intended. "And you?"

"Hershel," he replied. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too!" she said, resuming her hurry and hoping that he would understand. Odd, though. Her face still felt rather red.

The next day, she did not have that class again. But she found herself walking back towards that intersection, curious as to whether or not she would run into the man, Hershel, again.

She had mentioned the encounter to a friend, who had promptly told her that the only Hershel said friend was aware of was Hershel Layton, who was a student in the history department, where he was studying archaeology. He was said to be a genius, with no few lady admirers in the student body.

Going back there was probably a waste of time, and a wild goose chase. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, or so the saying went.

Claire paused on the corner and looked around. There were people milling about, heading here and there and the other place, but no sign of the man in the hat. She did not see him.

Until…

"Fancy running into you here again."

She turned around quickly. Sure enough, that was him. Wearing that same smile, no less. "Oh, Mr. Layton!" she said. "What a coincidence!"

"It seems we're making a habit of this, Miss Claire," he chuckled.

It was then that she noticed the book under his arm, and decided to ask. "What is it that you were reading yesterday?" It had been half the cause of their collision. She imagined that it was some great historical tome, given what she knew to be his field of study.

To her surprise, the book he held out was a book of puzzles. "It's a hobby of mine," he said at her startled look. He seemed to hesitate, then gestured towards a small café across the street. "If you're not busy, Miss Claire, perhaps you would accompany me…?"

As far as riddles went, Claire decided, that was an easy one. "I would love to," she said.


	3. Blue: The Confrontation

**AN: **So...err...I kind of forgot to post the other two parts of this. Whoops! Will go ahead and do that now. Sorry ;-; I don't own Layton!

**III. Blue: The Confrontation**

He looked similar, to be sure. The same eyes, the same hair color, the same face (albeit older), and even similar clothing. Apparently he had never gotten rid of that favorite blue hat of his. In terms of appearance, it was as if Luke had been taken and, for lack of a better description, stretched out so that he was taller and thinner.

But still, she was wary.

When the Professor and Luke (the younger Luke, to be specific) left for a bit, she was left alone with the young man who shared Luke's name and appearance.

And he was looking at her.

Flora busied herself by moving around the home she shared with her guardian and her adoptive brother. She tidied random bits of clutter, straightened books and ornaments, dusted a bit here and there, and took care of a few stray dishes that had been left in the sink. There were all menial jobs, but it kept her moving around and occupied.

Unfortunately, he saw fit to follow her around as she did all of these things. And while she was washing those dishes, he actually came right up next to her and stood there with her, leaning back against the counter to watch as she went about it.

Finally, she looked directly at him. "Forgive me for being a poor hostess. Is there anything you need?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," he said with that damnable smile of his.

She paused with her hands still in the sink. "Why are you following me?"

"Why are you trying to avoid me?" he asked in lieu of a reply.

She stared at him for a moment, then turned back down to wash the last teacup. "You are not the Luke I know," she said finally, drying her hands on the towel that always hung beside the sink.

"Oh?"

It was an interesting position to be standing in while having a conversation like this. They were practically standing shoulder to shoulder. He was looking out towards the kitchen and the hallway while she gazed out the window towards the alley in the back.

"You are the person Luke grows up to become, but right now, I don't know you," she said, trying to explain herself better. "You are a stranger to me."

"You don't trust me just yet." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, I do not. No matter what the Professor might think, I do not trust you. I…I can't trust you yet." That was hard to admit, but it was the fact of the matter.

There was a pause before he actually chuckled; the sound made her insides clench, though she was not entirely sure if it was from anger or something else. "I had nearly forgotten how hard it was for you to trust people." He tilted his head back to look at her with a smile. "That will get easier, I assure you."

Somehow, she almost wished that he would be a little bit less understanding. She thought that it might make it a bit easier, considering that she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the whole thing.

Flora started when she felt a hand touch hers on the counter. And all she could do was stare as this older Luke took her hand in his, raised it, and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

She had always seen gentlemen do that to ladies at parties she had gone to with her father, but she had been too little, and usually simply received a pat on the head.

It was sort of startling to experience it firsthand now and find that it sent a little spark of electricity through her at the contact. Her heart sped up, and she was sure that she was blushing.

But most importantly (and most embarrassingly), she was unable to tear her eyes away from Luke, who was still holding her hand, still bending over it, though now he was smiling up at her with that same disarming smile that had undoubtedly melted far harder hearts than hers.

He gave her fingers a squeeze. "I do hope that someday I will prove worthy of your trust." It was only then that he straightened back to his full height (which was maybe half a head taller than she was) and released her hand.

Flora stared at him for a moment, then looked back down at the sink. "May I ask a question?"

"Yes."

"…are you a part of my future?" she said after a moment. "Any part at all?" She already knew the answer, at least in part. He had told her that she would get over a few of her mental roadblocks as time went on, but to what extent was he…

She should have known that there was no way he would just give her a straight answer. Instead, he just shrugged and turned to lean against the counter again. "I think it would be best if I didn't tell you."

"Why not?" she asked. It wasn't petulant, but merely curious.

Luke tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. "Because if I tell you, then it might change some of the things that haven't happened yet. And there are some things…" he closed his eyes, "…that I do not want to see changed when I go back."

Seeing that look on his face, and hearing the way that he said that, Flora wondered if maybe, just maybe…well, perhaps she could take a guess as to what it was that he was so desperate to not see change by his actions while he was here in the past.

Flora glanced back down at the sink. "Luke…" she said slowly. "…would you like some tea?" It seemed like a silly thing to ask, but…

She felt his eyes on her.

And when he answered, she could practically hear that confounded smile of his. "Tea sounds lovely."


	4. Green: The Illness

**AN: **And here we have the final part. Yay! I don't own Layton. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!

**IV. Green: The Illness**

The doctor's prognosis was no small relief. Luke would be fine, the man said as Layton escorted him to the front door of the brownstone where teacher and student lived. He needed a few days of solid bedrest, and to drink plenty of liquids. He would be back on his feet in no time at all.

Layton thanked the doctor profusely and saw him out. As soon as the door was closed behind the man, the Professor turned and headed back up the stairs, back to Luke's room. The door was still open, and Layton stood in the doorway, looking into the room.

Luke was in bed, lying on his back with the blankets tucked in tightly around him. His eyes were closed; he was asleep. But his breathing was labored and wheezing, and his face had a peculiar color to it that only a sick person could truly have: he was pale and flushed at the same time, with a tinge to his countenance that bordered on being green.

This had all started earlier that morning when he had called Luke down to breakfast. It was unusual for the boy to sleep so late. He was usually up fairly early, running around and doing this, that, the other thing, and maybe something else. The energy of the young was something to be marveled at, truly.

But there was no energy today. There were slow, shuffling footsteps, and then Luke appeared, still in his pajamas. He was practically green in the face, and nearly collapsed into his chair at the table instead of merely sitting. He then leaned on the table with his forehead cradled in his hand.

Properly alarmed at this unusual display, Layton crossed the kitchen and put his hand on the boy's forehead. He could feel the heat before his hand had gotten anywhere near the skin; Luke was far warmer than what was normal, and his skin was clammy to the touch.

The Professor had acted quickly. Luke was ordered back to bed, and then had to be helped back up the stairs as he nearly lost consciousness halfway up the steps. Layton had ended up more or less carrying Luke back to his room and getting him into bed before going to summon the doctor.

The prognosis was as he had expected: Luke was sick with a high fever. It seemed that there was something going around, and many children were becoming ill.

Now Layton was left to take care of things.

He crossed the room slowly and came to stand beside the bed. He paused, then sat down on the edge of the mattress, taking care not to jostle it too much. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and put one hand to Luke's forehead (which still felt so warm) and began gently brushing the sweat-dampened hair back from his skin, making it stick out at odd angles.

For the first time in quite a while, his apprentice stirred, and Luke looked up at him through glazed eyes. "P-Professor…?" he mumbled.

"Just checking on you. That's all," Layton said with a smile. "The doctor said that you're to stay in bed, and you'll be fine in a few days."

"…the doctor was here?" Luke wheezed after a moment.

"You were asleep." Layton said. "Is there anything you need?"

"…water?" Luke asked. "Throat hurts…" That was punctuated, appropriately enough, by a harsh cough that seemed to rattle his entire body. "S'hot in here…"

The Professor smiled. "I'm afraid you're going to be very miserable for a few days, Luke. I'll get you some water." He rose with the intention of going in search of a glass.

"P-Professor…didn't you have…" Luke coughed again, "…'nother meeting today?"

"I rescheduled," Layton said matter-of-factly. In truth, he had been scheduled to attend a meeting with a client that afternoon. But after he had summoned the doctor, he had called the client and informed them that his son was sick and he needed to stay home.

There had been no issues from the client upon hearing the reason.

It took him a mere moment to retrieve the requested glass of water, and he was back at Luke's bedside with it. "Can you sit up?" It turned out that Luke could, but only with a bit of help to get himself upright. He managed a few swallows of water before he slumped back to the bed, seemingly exhausted by the exertion of sitting up.

Layton thought for a moment, then went down to his study and retrieved a small bell that normally sat on the mantle. It was a trinket he had picked up somewhere. Now he took it up to Luke's room and set it on the bedside table. "If you need anything, my boy, just ring. I just should be able to hear you from anywhere in the house."

A mumble that might have been an affirmative answer was his only reply, and Layton smiled in spite of himself. "All right. I'll let you rest." He stepped back out of the room, extinguishing the lights as he did so, and leaving Luke to get some sleep.


End file.
